


Linkage of Souls

by Cerch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Brief mention of past torture, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Persecution, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerch/pseuds/Cerch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Merlin is alright. He would know, Merlin had said, he would know, just as Merlin would know if something happened to him. He presses his hand to his heart, against the tattoo hidden under his clothes, hoping for some sort of comfort. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linkage of Souls

**Author's Note:**

> So, apparently I write lots of fic when I have exams. That may not be good. Or it may be very good, depending on how you look at it.
> 
> [Sass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/pseuds/sassafrasx) was awesome and betaed this for me, thank you. <3

The pile of dirty mugs and plates has somehow gotten offensively high, making the prospect of approaching the sink and the surrounding counters seem somewhat hazardous. Arthur really thinks that this expensive flat should have at least a dishwasher, though he also suspects they are, by some unvoiced agreement, also paying for not being noticed. The questions he expected, the questions he knows any sane person would have asked, have been curiously absent, but he has learned not to inspect a gift horse’s teeth too carefully. Merlin has been somewhat forceful in teaching him that.

And Merlin is late, very late, and Arthur misses him and worries for him. With Merlin around the pile of dishes would have never reached such monstrous dimensions. He might also be a tiny bit angry that Merlin hasn’t contacted him since he left. He probably has some stupid, painfully _reasonable_ excuse – fuck, Arthur knows the silence is actually perfectly reasonable no matter how much he hates it – but he also needs to know how everything is going, if Merlin and everybody else is alright, and when Merlin is returning back home. Back home to Arthur - not to the flat that’s not really a home. It’s greyish and uninviting; even Merlin’s best attempts during the two months they have spent here haven’t been able to banish the gloomy air that seems to be oozing out of the structure itself. It has certainly done nothing to make Arthur’s long, boring days any better.

Cautiously, so as not to end up buried under plates, forks, mugs, and the suspicious blue substance clinging to them, he opens the hot water tab. To his surprise the water warms almost instantly. He dryly wonders what has caused the ancient, unpredictable boiler to behave so well. Merlin claims he only has problems in the first place because he is rude towards it, that it’s just an old and proud, if a little cranky, dragon with a thirst for freedom away from the dusty corner – Merlin has actually named the thing Kilgarrah, but Arthur firmly refuses to call their boiler, or any other inanimate objects, by name. He claims it’s because it would be ridiculous, but he also doesn’t want any extra excuses for talking out loud when he is hiding in the flat alone.

As it is he barely resists a sarcastic, “Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” when the sink is finally full of steaming hot water.

It scorches his skin at first and he has to fight back a flashback of Merlin’s burned wrists from months ago. He can’t even imagine the pain Merlin must have been in, but he remembers Merlin’s frail form, remembers how his eyes had screwed shut, remembers his hoarse and fierce whisper, “We have to help them.” He had shuddered in Arthur’s arms and Arthur had been afraid he would break. “I wanted to die when I was there, Arthur, and I would rather die than go back. We can’t leave them there!” Arthur had promised they wouldn’t, and yet somehow it is Merlin out there, putting himself at risk while Arthur hides inside, safe. Soon, Merlin had told him, soon they would need Arthur, but what was the point if Merlin got himself killed –

He shakes his head vehemently. Merlin is alright. He would know, Merlin had said, he would know, just as Merlin would know if something happened to him. He presses his hand to his heart, against the tattoo hidden under his clothes, hoping for some sort of comfort. There is none, and he leans heavily against the counter.

There is a small, sharp cling when something in the pile moves, and a mug topples over from the top. Hopelessly Arthur watches as it glances against a plate and another mug, sending the counter into an impressive domino effect, where everything moves just a little before suddenly reaching some fine point of imbalance that sends it all sliding inevitably towards the edge with a horrible screeching and clanging like a noisy avalanche. Arthur makes a heroic dive for it, but though he manages to grab a plate and stop most of it, a mug – Merlin’s favourite, his brain informs him – refuses to be stopped and falls. And freezes in mid-air.

Arthur stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending, then shoves the pile of plates he is holding upright. The tattoo in his chest tingles as he turns towards the door, his throat suddenly dry and heart hammering like a drum.

Merlin looks definitely worse for wear, covered in dirt and one sleeve torn, but he is grinning brightly, stance relaxed and specks of gold dancing in his eyes. Arthur goes to him. It takes him only two steps to cross the room. Carefully, he lifts his hands to Merlin’s face, feeling for the warmth underneath, and Merlin’s lips curve into a softer, more private smile.

“Hey,” Merlin says.

Arthur kisses him, dirt, chapped lips and all, and Merlin melts into him with a happy sigh. Something shatters loudly behind them, and Merlin curses against his lips, but doesn’t draw back, his hands that have somehow sneaked their way around Arthur’s neck tightening momentarily.

“I missed you,” Arthur whispers, though he doesn’t really mean to say it out loud.

“I know,” Merlin answers, his breath warm on Arthur’s cheek. “I missed you too.”

He peeks over Arthur’s shoulder. “Is that some sort of scientific experiment?” There is a teasing lilt to his tone.

Arthur doesn’t want to tell him how he hardly did anything during his two weeks of worry and loneliness but he suspects Merlin knows anyway. He buries his face in Merlin’s neck, breathes in the familiar scent of his sweat and feels his heartbeat under his cheek.

“Next time,” he mumbles and Merlin makes a questioning sound. He draws back and looks straight into Merlin’s eyes, begging him to understand while he forces all his conviction into his tone.  “Next time, I’m going with you.”

He feels Merlin’s muscles twitching, sees his pain in the way his forehead pinches together, but Merlin must also see that Arthur is not going to back away this time because he sighs and presses his forehead against Arthur’s.

“Alright. But I’m not cleaning that up.”

Arthur doesn’t even protest. Instead he brings his hand to hand to Merlin’s chest where underneath all the dirty clothes lays a tattoo that is a mirror to his own, linking them together.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not quite sure what this fic is trying to be but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Kudos and comments are received with great love and joy.


End file.
